


Slave II

by grogu-pascal (venusx)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Just Err..., No Threesome, Porn With Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, all characters are of age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusx/pseuds/grogu-pascal
Summary: Din hitches a ride on Slave I after the Razorcrest is destroyed. Boba has bratty company.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Original Female Character, Boba Fett/Reader, Din Djarin/Original Female Character, Din Djarin/Original Female Character/Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/Reader/Boba Fett
Comments: 9
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, we pretend that the Moff Gideon sub-plot never/hasn't yet happened.

"It's not much. Shouldn't matter," Boba says as he reaches the top of the ramp. 

Din gives the ship a once over before answering. 'Not much' is right. "Thank you for your hospitality." In the corner of his eye, a spark flashes. He makes the conscious decision to pretend he hasn't noticed. "Where will I be—"

—"Sleeping?" Boba offers, resting his helmet on the metal table that separates them. Din subconsciously averts his eyes. "There's a spare bunk in the room two doors down."

Din nods, and turns to retreat to his assignment.

"Dinner is in a few hours," he hears Boba say. "I'll have the girl come get you."

* * *

The bunk is small, smaller than the one he had on the Crest, but a bed is a bed and he's too tired to really care. He closes the door behind him and runs a gloved finger over the indent where the lock should be. Looks like he'll be sleeping in his armor tonight. Din's lies down on the mattress, folding his hands over his chestplate. It could be worse. But not by much. 

The gentle _hum_ of the ship lulls Din to sleep and some indistinguishable amount of time passes until the smell of something delicious wakes him again. He sits up too quickly at the realization and winces: a _crick_ has already begun to fester in his neck. Even still, part of him wants to just lay back down, get a few more hours of sleep under his belt. Unfortunately, Boba expressly invited him to dinner earlier, and it would rude to ignore his request.

In one motion, Din stands on his feet and follows the scent of the food down the hall. It leads him straight to where a girl shorter, younger, and far more beautiful than Boba sits on the man's lap at the head of the table, arm wrapped around his shoulder, face merely inches from his scarred one. Her tunic is short, shorter than any of the one's he's ever seen, with thin straps that might reveal her breasts if she were to move too quickly.

DIn swallows hard as he watches the flesh of her thigh dent under the pressure of Boba's hand. The man grips the limb and looks up at her as she speaks, kneading the flesh in a way that nearly looks uncomfortable. The girl doesn't seem to mind, just keeps talking, too busy with the pleasure of the man's attention to complain about the bruises he's probably making.

Din stands awkwardly in the threshold of the room until the girl takes notice: pointing her chin in his direction in attempt to redirect Boba's attention.

"Oh," Din stammers. How long had he been staring? "Excuse me." He turns to head back to his room, but stops at Boba's request.

"No need. We were wondering if you were going to join us after all."

"Sorry," Din says, swallowing embarrassment. "I overslept."

Boba turns his attention to the girl perched on his lap. "You were to wake him."

The girl shrugs and gets up. She removes a utensil from the serving dish and shovels a helping of stew onto Din's plate, "Am I the help? Besides, he's here now."

Boba tears his eyes away from the girl, obviously displeased. "I apologize. We're still working on that mouth." He sticks his fork into a piece of the stew and chews slowly. The girl huffs in response, but says nothing.

"I appreciate your hospitality," Din says, taking his seat. Warmth radiates from the space next to him, where the girl still stands. Her hands are placed on the ears of his chair, waiting.

"Do you take that off? To eat?"

Din half-turns his head to the girl at his side. He can see the smooth of her thigh in his periphery. He swallows hard. It's been a while since he was so close to someone dressed in so little. "Y-yes." Stars, she's close. "I mean, no. Not right now. In private I do."

"Ah, so you're one of those. Boba told me all about those kinds of mandalorians." Her eyes dart over to where Boba sits, but he's not taking the bait. He just continues eating, pretends not to notice her attempts to rile him up. Din isn't sure what to say to that, but it doesn't so much matter, because she moves on without him anyway. 

"Your helmet is really pretty," she says, tracing a manicured nail against it, "beskar, right?"

"Yes," Din breathes. The touch isn't on his skin, but he feels it burn through the metal and shoot right through him. She smells good, too. Is that vanilla? Jasmine? 

"Boba told me that stuff was expensive. Said it was only for guys who—"

"Girl." Boba's voice is full of conviction. At that, she walks away from Din and takes her seat across from his at the table. A grin plays on her lips as she locks eyes with Din through his helmet, fork raised to take a bite. 

Din doesn't allow himself the pleasure of watching her wrap her lips around the utensil, instead shutting his eyes behind his helmet and taking a deep breath. His dick is half-hard in his codpiece.

Ignoring it, he moves his helmet up to rest at his moustache, and brings the food to his lips. His eyes nearly roll back in his head. It's better than anything he's had in a long time.

"Does it taste good?" he hears the girl say. She crosses one leg over the other and sits back in her chair, moving her dinner around her plate.

Din nods, "great. Do you cook often?"

"Every night. But I made this just for you. It's a mandalorian dish. _Tiingilar._ Or something." Her mouth is full, and she brings a hand in front of her face. "It's usually just me and him," she nods towards Boba.

"How long have you two been together?"

The girl stops chewing and raises a brow. "Together?" 

Din rests his fork on the plate, " _err_.."

"Do you think we're _fucking_?" A mischievous grin teeters at her lips. "Boba's like my _dad_."

"Language. And I am not your Fath—"

—"He just takes good care of me is all." She swallows. "Been that way for about a year now, ever since he rescued me." She looks over at the man, adding, "I think...he sees me as like a daughter to him." Boba shakes his head, but says nothing. She purses her lips, and offers, "step-daughter?"

Boba doesn't look up at her, just pierces another piece of stew. "You're as bratty as a spoiled girl, if that's what you mean."

She frowns, and shifts her gaze to Din. "I'm not bratty. He doesn't know what he's talkin' about. Probably goin' senile," she snickers and Din suppresses a groan at the way her breasts shake.

"To answer your real question, no. He doesn't do any of that"—she wags her fork—"other stuff with me."

Din swallows back his second apology of the night and eats another bite of stew. The silences aren't comfortable. He isn't sure if it's because he's so used to the lull of the RazorCrest or if it's the uh, _unique_ tension brewing in the room. Either way, he's determined to finish his meal without fucking up again.

It doesn't last long though because soon he notices that the girl has stopped eating her food entirely and taken to watching as he eats his. It's vaguely uncomfortable. Mostly because she isn't really supposed to be seeing his face at all right now. It's only worsened when she says:

"You have such pretty lips."

Before Din can respond, Boba does. " **Girl** ," he warns. 

"What?" she sighs, annoyance in her voice. "You never bring me any company. How'm I s'posed to know how to act when you never bring me any company?"

"You know how to act."

She frowns and pushes her chair back, forcing it to grunt against the metal floor. "You're being mean."

Din watches Boba's eyes, intense and serious, locked with the girls. Her posture is sad, defeated even, but her eyes twinkle with mischief. The whole room feels like an oven.

"Don't make me send you to your room."

 _"Hmph!"_ she grunts. "I'll do it myself." She rises from her chair and sloppily pushes it back under the table. Din can't help but watch the sway of her hips as she leaves.

Nor can he help but notice the way Boba's eyes hang onto the hem of her tunic. 


	2. Chapter 2

"What'cha doin'?" the girl asks. Din hadn't even heard her come in. He looks up at her briefly before returning to his task. Another too-short tunic. 

He swallows before answering, "trying to fix this stupid blaster." It's a half-truth. He was daydreaming before she came in, merely spinning the blaster in circles on the metal table, spotless of any remnants of last night's dinner.

She mumbles something he can't hear as she makes her way towards him. Her bare feet make little _pats_ across the floor until she stops to the side of him in the same spot she was last night. Only this time, she pulls his arm away from his blaster and sits in his lap, legs perpendicular to his own.

Din clears his throat and sits up in his seat. "Uh-w-where's Fett?"

"He's working on sum'thn. Dunno what. Hardly matters. Why?" she looks down at him, eyes searching into his visor. Din doesn't answer, just stares at the blaster and wills his cock not to harden against her ass.

The girl unwraps a lollipop, bright red and semitransparent, and places it onto her tongue before speaking. "Sometimes Boba's company is mean to me. Boba doesn't like that. Are _you_ gonna be mean to me?" 

Din shakes his head. His mind is getting fuzzy. His attempts to fight-back his impure thoughts are making it hard to form any thoughts at all. He's good at multitasking but this is damn near working backwards. 

"Din?" she says with mock-concern, crossing one leg over the other and wrapping her arms around his neck. "How come you aren't lookin' at me?"

His cock throbs at the sound of his name on her lips. It's all honey: sticky and raspy. Artificially sweet, an octave too high to be genuine. He blinks his eyes and turns his helmet to look up at her face. He knows she won't be able to ignore his growing length much longer.

To make matters worse, the girl swivels in his lap and presses her bare feet against his boots, clothed pussy directly over his firm erection. 

She looks over her shoulder at him, lollipop bulging against her cheek, and says a single, "oh." 

Din shifts in his seat. He can feel the heat of her cunt through his clothing. "C-can you get up?" he rasps. "Please."

She giggles. "It's nothin' to be embarrassed about. You feel"—she grinds her ass against him—"big. How long since you've—"

Her voice echoes in his head. His eyes fix on her lips, pink and plump and freshly lubricated with her spit. He wants them wrapped around his dick.

"I can't," he finally speaks, half-rationalizing with himself and half-rationalizing to her. "Not to Fett. I'm his guest. C-can't be with you like-uh, like this."

The girl cocks her head to the side, and switches the candy to the other side of her cheek. "You're my guest too. I can do whatever I want. Boba's not the boss'a'me."

"Is that how things work with you and Boba?" he grits through clenched teeth. It's a genuine question, but it comes out strained.

"You don't know _anything_ about me and Boba," she bites. She reigns in her temporary loss of composure and adds, "he's like my dad, 'member? Now, do you want my mouth on your cock"—she takes the lollipop out of her mouth but a trail of spit links it back to her lips—"or not?"

Din hisses at the sight, and furrows his brows in anguish. If Fett found out that he'd fucked his quasi-daughter after offering him a bed on his ship...he'd be pissed. And rightfully so. Unfortunately, Din's dick is the only thing doing long-term thinking right now and he's about to be really fucking disgusted with himself.

He nods hurriedly and lifts her from his lap, frantically undoing his trousers. Another devilish grin spreads across her face as she lowers to her knees, placing the lollipop on the floor as she crawls over to him. With a spring, his cock releases from his pants and gently smacks her face. She laughs.

A drop of precum sticks to her cheek and strings back to the head of his cock. She wastes no time turning her head to the side to engulf it in her mouth, gently suckling on him. He groans and lurches forward, forcing his cock-head past her lips. Her mouth feels like heaven.

"M-more," he manages, gently thrusting in and out of her mouth. He's barely half-way in.

She mumbles an _mhm_ and opens her jaw wider. A needy groan escapes him as he grabs the back of her head and pushes his dick down her throat. Her hands fly up from the floor and brace against his thighs. A concerned yelp dies in her throat, but he ignores it, eyes-half lidded and mind numb with arousal. He's painfully close.

"Fuck," he sighs. "I'm-I'm gonna come. Your tits. S-show me your tits." The girl obeys, pulling her tunic down to reveal her breasts, slicked with sweat and bouncing with each of his thrusts. "Y-yeah, just like that. I-ffuck. I'm—"

Suddenly, the girl pushes off of his legs and rips her mouth away from his cock. Din lets go a pained grunt and grabs his aching member. He watches the girl, snot-nosed with her own spit collecting at her chin, laugh at his state. 

She stands up, knees dented from her earlier position, and hikes her tunic past her knees. Her pussy glistens as she bends over the table, exposing herself to him. "I want you to fuck me, too."

" _Hng,_ " he groans lowly, walking over to her. He positions his cock at her entrance and brings both hands behind her back. "No more of that," he says in reference to his denied orgasm. 

"Can't help myself," she gasps. Din's cock begins to stretch into her and her head tilts back, mouth wide open in pleasure. 

"Yes," she moans. "Yesyesyes." The sound of their sex fills the room as Din's pace grows more rapid. As he chases orgasm, he fucks into her hard, each thrust knocking her hips forward against the table. He knows he's being a little too rough.

What Din _doesn't_ know that this is the sole room on the Slave I with cameras. She's ensured that he's fucking her in the best view possible.

The girl's mouth is beyond filthy. It's _fuck me harder, Din;_ _that hurts so good; you're the biggest cock I've ever had_ until he's one more dirty sentences away from coming. She shoves a hand between her legs and circles her clit. He can feel her pussy tighten around him. He steps closer to her, pressing her head down on the table ungently, using her body as leverage. Under his boot, he feels her lollipop crush. The image of her sucking it like a whore plays in his mind, and he doubles over inside of her. 

This time, he doesn't warn her, just chases and chases until his cock is shooting his spend against her walls. She spasms against him shortly after, and he nearly winces from the overstimulation as her cunt squeezes each drop from him. 

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Din pulls his cock out of her and watches as his come rushes out. The girl slicks a finger between her folds, collecting a bit of it before sucking it off. She sits upright on the table, face-to-face with Din and lifts his helmet to his moustache. Immediately, she kisses him, tongue darting between his lips, his own spend soaking against his tongue. 

"How's that taste? Great?" she croons. She bites her lips with a laugh and pulls her tunic back up, preparing to leave. "You're a good fuck, _Din_."

She presses a kiss to his cheek and walks back in the direction she came from. Her hips still carry a dangerous sway,

Din's chest heaves as he huffs a laugh, cut short by a stunning realization: he's never told the girl his name. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably didn't make it clear that this is the first time anything of the sort has ever happened between them. That is all. Enjoy this last chapter.

Din wakes with his head on the table. He isn't sure what time it is, or how long he's been there, but the _crick_ in his neck has returned. He stretches his arms and looks around him for the girl, contemplating whether he had just dreamed that or not. 

He brushes his hand over his trousers to feel for any wetness. Nothing. Hm. 

He hears it then, the soft panting and sighs echoing off of the walls. Rising from his chair, he follows the noise to the cockpit. The girl is seated on Boba's lap. Nothing spectacular until he notices that Boba's mouth is craned into her neck, speech muffling against her skin. Her head is completely relaxed against Boba's shoulder, and his hands are suspiciously low. Too low for Din to get a good look at from this angle.

Din takes a step forward quietly, straining for a better view.

"Daddy!" the girl cries out. Din freezes in place. His eyes widen in his helmet. He still can't completely see what Boba is doing to her, but he recognizes the sound. The squelch of her cunt filters out of the room and fills Din's helmet. He doesn't acknowledge that he probably shouldn't be snooping, just wonders how many fingers Boba is fucking her with. Wonders if they can see him from this angle as he undoes his trousers for the second time that night.

"Daddy, please." The girl twists on Boba's lap but he holds her in place, curling his fingers into her. She whines, legs weak and trembling against him. Her clit is throbbing, desperate to be left alone.

"Give me one more, girl. I want one more."

She can't help but cry out as he flicks her clit twice. Her pleasure is twisting into pain, orgasms stretched out too far and growing in number. She is beyond stimulated, so fucked out that every meet of Boba's thick fingers against her g-spot makes her eyes well. "N-no more, please," she begs.

"I'm not asking you baby," Boba grunts. "Give me one more."

The girl leans forward on his lap as Boba wrestles her back down. "Ffu-"

"Language."

"I feel like I'm- _agh!-_ Daddy, I-I-I can't."

Boba pulls his fingers out and licks them clean before stretching her with a third. "You could earlier. With that Mandalorian," he says. The girl whines. "You could take _all_ of him. You little minx. Letting him fuck you while you performed for _me_. You knew I'd be watching didn't you? "

He lands two slaps against her cunt, "answer me girl."

"Y-yes! I w-wanted you to watch him fuck me." He voice is airy, strained, tight from all of the begging she's been doing.

None of that matters to Boba. He continues, "he can probably hear you right now, little minx. He's probably wishing he was here right now." A whimper dies in the girl's throat. "Probably wishes he was the one urging these orgasms from you," she clenches hard around his fingers at that, "he's not though, girl, is he? Why's that?"

"Because—" she starts. Boba's fingers hit that spot again and her whole body seizes. 

"Because?" Boba groans, fingers curling and curling and curling into her. 

"C-Cause I'm yours, Daddy—s _tars!—_ All y-yours." With that, she orgasms again, body rocking against his. He presses kisses against her neck as she spasms, cunt squeezing his fingers. "Oh!" she cries with each involuntary clench. Boba merely rolls her clit between his fingers, prolonging her suffering for a few seconds more. Tears fall from her eyes and she curls into him, exhausted.

Nearly instantly, Boba's demeanor changes.

"You did so good, girl. You were so good for me." Boba tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You were such a good girl for me."

The girl wipes at her tears and smiles up at him weakly, "I'm tired, Boba," she says quietly. Her voice is hoarse, nearly a stranger to the man's ears. 

"Let's get you to bed," he says. He lifts her from his pilot's chair and exists the doorframe, stopping only when he sees red crumbs against the ground, trail leading from the doorway of the cockpit to the spare room Din is staying in. 

Back against the door of his room, chest heaving with adrenaline, Din prays that the man won't see the cum splattered across the floor. Din hears Boba ask, "what's this red stuff?" and silently curses himself, his shoes, and then the girl for dropping that lollipop in the first place.


End file.
